


Human Nature

by thegirlwiththemouseyhair



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Supernatural Elements, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/pseuds/thegirlwiththemouseyhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas, now living with Edward Courtenay as his valet and lover after the Great War, is forced to confess a terrible secret to Edward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Where do you go off to, at night?” Edward asked.

It was the fourth time in the last two weeks. Thomas backed away from Edward and closer to the door. His heart, which had been beating healthily again as it did when he was sated with blood, fluttered in his chest. He couldn’t confess this secret, yet he couldn’t keep lying to Edward, either. It was becoming too obvious.

He swallowed.

“I only wanted a walk,” Thomas lied. “Same as the other night.”

Edward bit his lip. Thomas watched him furrow his brow in worry – or hurt, perhaps – and drum his fingers on the arm rest of his chair before he could bring himself to speak again.

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” Edward said in a low voice. “I may be blind, but I’m not an idiot. I can’t imagine you’d leave my side for two hours or more in the middle of the night, in the rain half the time, just for a walk. If there’s someone else you’re meeting–”

“There isn’t,” Thomas answered, with feeling. Edward sighed.

“Well, I wish you’d tell me the truth,” he said. “If you’re unhappy with me you can leave, you know; I wouldn’t say no or refuse you a reference.”

Thomas inched toward Edward. He could still taste the blood of his latest victim – a country boy from a nearby farm who’d live, though he might feel poorly for a few days – on his lips, but the sweet taste soured as Edward questioned him. If his curse cost him Edward, he didn’t know what he would do with himself.

“I’m not unhappy with you. I love you.”

“Then don’t keep things from me,” Edward snapped. “If you’re in some trouble, blackmail or something, I could help. You needn’t worry about the money.”

Thomas laughed. “It’s not that. I almost wish it were.”

“Then what _is_ it?”

“You’d hate me if I told you,” Thomas said. “That, or you’d think I’m mad for even saying it.”

Edward favoured him with a wan smile. “I could never hate you. Try me.” He gestured toward the bed. “Do you want to sit down?”

Thomas tensed and shook his head, as if Edward could see him. “I’d rather stand, thanks.”

“All right – but tell me what’s going on with you.”

Edward was commanding, now. Thomas put his hand to his mouth to worry at a fingernail. He looked around the room, wondering if Edward would be afraid of him when he spoke and if he shouldn’t move further away. Yet his knees were weak. He’d known on some level that his secret might come out some day, though he’d been dreading it and dreaded it still.

Perhaps standing wasn’t a good idea after all, he thought, and sat down at the edge of Edward’s bed, as far from him as he could get.

Then he told Edward everything – about that night in the trenches when he’d been trapped by shellfire with a man who was surely about to die from his burns. Thomas had sat there shivering, listening to the explosions in the distance, muffled by mud, and the much more pressing torture of the other man’s dying rasps. He had never really wished death on anyone, though part of him had looked forward to being alone and able, at least, to cower in peace without the dying man reminding him of what he might suffer himself at any minute.

But the man had gone on and on dying. Thomas remembered staring down at the cold rainwater and mud beneath them, because he hated to look at the rasping mass and the charred flesh. At one point, he shut his eyes…

And then Thomas recalled being tackled, not by an enemy, but by the man who was just lying on the stretcher beside him and who should by rights have died already. Thomas had shouted uselessly. He tried to struggle – remembered wanting to vomit at the smell of charred flesh so close to his face – and then panicked as the charred man bit into the vein at his neck.

Thomas didn’t think he’d ever lost so much blood before. He fainted, but revived enough to beg for his life. The charred man had stood over him, hesitating – not running and leaving Thomas to die, at least. Thomas watched him as black spots danced before his eyes and marvelled at how upright, how _strong_ , the other man had grown. The burns on his body had only half-healed, but he lifted Thomas off the ground as if Thomas were a boy and let him suck the blood from his own muddy wrist.

Thomas’s voice shook as he told Edward everything. Well – _almost_ everything. He’d had to steal blood from the stores in the field ambulances and later at the hospital when he worked there. He wasn’t proud of it, though he’d hardly had a choice in the matter. Edward said nothing. Thomas had to look away from him several times. He thought of his shame months before when Edward slit his wrists that night in the hospital. The scent of Edward’s blood had brought that gnawing, ravenous hunger to Thomas’s stomach, even as he and Nurse Crawley struggled to save Edward’s life.

Thomas, of course, said nothing of _that_.

Edward remained silent for a long, long while after Thomas finished. The stolen blood in Thomas’s veins ran cold. Of course Edward couldn’t let him stay now; no sane human being would, knowing the sort of creature Thomas had become.

“So you go out every other night to kill someone?” Edward asked at last. His face creased into an expression of disgust that made Thomas’s stomach sink.

“You really think I could kill anyone?” Thomas countered. “Because I couldn’t – and I don’t need that much blood. I can survive on a little, not enough to kill – and I don’t want to.”

Every day Thomas thanked heaven or any other power in the universe, good or evil, for that small mercy. It was one thing to tell little lies about a rival he disliked, or to pester the maids of Mrs. Courtenay’s lady friends for gossip, to make sure no silly noble woman would be throwing her daughter at Edward’s head and threatening the only happiness Thomas had found in years. Killing, however, was _really_ wrong, wrong in a way that Thomas could barely imagine. He’d have feared and hated his curse all the more if he had to do it.

“No, I don’t believe you have it in you,” Edward relented. Then he shook his head again. “Actually, I can’t believe any of this. People would _know_ if such things existed; you – are you sure you’re not ill? I’m not trying to insult you – I mean, I’d help you if you were –”

Thomas reached for Edward’s hand. “You never noticed how cold my skin is?”

Edward clasped his fingers.

“I supposed that was your natural temperature or something,” he said. “I can’t believe you. I’m sorry.”

Thomas looked down. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or not. _At least he hasn’t thrown me out. Yet._

“Can you prove that what you say is true?” Edward asked.

“I swear it,” Thomas said. “And I swear I’d never hurt you. Really, I don’t like to have to attack _anyone_ , but I want to live.”

Edward was silent once again. Thomas felt his heart pounding as if he were still human.

Then Edward rolled up the sleeve of his pajama shirt and held out his wrist to Thomas.

“Another scar won’t make a difference to me,” he said. “Prove it.”

Thomas gaped at him. “Edward, I’m not–”

“If you _have_ some supernatural power, I need to know. I need to know you’re not just suffering from delusions.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Thomas protested. “Don’t ask me to.”

Edward hesitated, clenching and unclenching his fist.

“I need to know, Thomas,” he repeated after a moment. “You said you don’t kill your – prey, I suppose, and I trust you, but I don’t think I can believe this without some sort of proof.”

Thomas took Edward’s hand. “If you’re sure…”

Edward flinched, but nodded. “Mind – I trust you.”

Thomas could smell and _feel_ the blood in Edward’s veins. The scent of it made him tremble; he’d dreamed of this moment as often as he had dreaded it.

“I’ll be careful,” he murmured. Then he slid the sharp canine teeth that had grown in after his encounter across Edward’s wrist. He grazed the skin over the vein, not the artery, because he meant what he said when he swore that he would never hurt Edward. He was already thinking where he could find a bandage, even as he lapped at the blood that oozed from the wound.

“My God,” Edward murmured, shuddering, and shrinking from Thomas.

Thomas let go of him at once.

“I’m sorry I’m like this,” he said.

Edward rested his hand on his lap. He took several deep breaths, his thin chest heaving, then felt for the wound in his wrist with his other hand. “It’s a lot to take in…”

Thomas put his hand to his mouth.

“I’ll fetch you a bandage,” he offered, his voice hoarse.

“Never mind,” Edward said. “I don’t need one yet.” He reached for the handkerchief on the bedside table, and pressed it to the cut on his wrist. Thomas shivered. The taste of Edward’s blood lingered on his palate, but the thought of what he had done nauseated him. It was too like that night Edward had nearly died in hospital, only this time, Thomas had been the one to hurt him.

“I want to know more about you,” Edward added. “The – the _man_ who did this to you – did you never see him again?”

“No, never,” Thomas admitted.

A light had come into Edward’s face. His scarred eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing for a moment.

“But you said he was restored,” he began at last, keeping his voice low, “I mean, after drinking your blood. Do you mean he healed?” He paused again. Thomas looked at him, quite sure he knew where this was going. “If I were to become like you, do you think I could heal – that I might get my eyesight back?”

“I don’t _know,_ ” Thomas said. A lump had come into his throat; he cleared it. Edward drew himself up, face turned toward the sound of Thomas’s voice. Thomas reached for his hand to console him.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so – not necessarily,” he went on. “The man who bit me and saved my life didn’t exactly heal, not completely. He just got up and ran as he was, like a walking corpse.”

Edward sank back into his chair. He slackened his grip on the handkerchief, nearly dropping it. Thomas put his free hand on Edward’s to stop the bleeding, determined _not_ to think of that ravenous hunger that had come back to gnaw at his insides.

Edward stiffened at the touch. Thomas flinched.

“Well, then, he can’t have been that unusual,” Edward said bitterly. “A whole generation of young men – we’re all walking corpses in our way.”

“It’s not quite the same,” Thomas said. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, but at least you’re still human.”

Thomas hadn’t healed from his blighty the way a human man would have. The wound in his hand was as it had been hours after he was shot, an ugly, blackened little hole that oozed blood under his glove on the rare occasions when he gorged himself. He’d had a devil of a time getting his blighty ticket without anyone discovering his secrets. He supposed his curse could have saved him if they’d shot him for cowardice, but it was best not to find these things out, wasn’t it?

“Thank you for telling me all this,” Edward said into the silence. “I shall need to think, all right?”

Thomas leaned forward to plant an impulsive kiss on Edward’s cheek. Edward didn’t pull away, but he did tense, a little, enough to make Thomas sigh and wish he were human once more. He knew he’d be sleeping alone tonight – though he could hardly blame Edward for being wary of a man like him.

*

“I’m not throwing you out,” Edward said two mornings later, as Thomas helped him dress. “Don’t worry; I owe you far too much. And I suppose you’re still the man I love, for the most part.”

Thomas’s shoulders sagged in relief. He exhaled, then grinned broadly and ran his hand along Edward’s arm, caressing him. The last two days had been trying, yet here he was, able to share his secret and _not_ be hated for it. _Trust my darling, darling Edward to give me a chance_ , he thought.

“Thank you,” he murmured. It was all he could manage aloud.

“But I don’t want you hurting anyone,” Edward continued. “And I don’t want you risking discovery. If anyone found out that you’re not entirely human, you could be subdued, locked up – dissected in some laboratory, perhaps… I don’t even want to think about it happening to you.”

Thomas kissed him, cold skin warming to hear Edward speak so kindly and with such concern for _him_. Then he remembered what Edward had said seconds before.

“But I can’t _starve_ ,” he said. “I never wanted to be like this, but I couldn’t survive starving myself.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Edward promised.

Thomas frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Edward turned and put his hand on Thomas’s arm.

“You said you only need a small amount of blood to sustain you,” he said.

“Yeah – fairly small.”

“And you don’t need it every night, do you?” Edward asked. “I’d have caught on sooner if you did.”

“What are you saying?” Thomas countered, stomach clenching.

“I’d let you survive off _me_ ,” Edward replied. “If you could, and if I could survive it.”

Thomas jerked away from Edward. “ _No_ – I won’t hurt _you_.”

“But it would be a small sacrifice,” Edward insisted. “I owe you so much.”

“Not this,” Thomas snapped.

Edward reached for him again. “I think it makes sense. We could keep your – _difference_ between ourselves, and no one else would know or be harmed in any way.”

“I can’t do it,” Thomas said. He couldn’t. What if something went _wrong_? It would be bad enough if he were to kill some stranger without intending to. To watch Edward – the one person who cared for him – suffer would be impossible, even if the smell and the feel of Edward’s blood pulsing beneath his warm flesh tantalized Thomas when they were intimate.

“You shouldn’t even offer,” Thomas added.

Edward cupped Thomas’s face in his hands and kissed him. “I know you don’t want to hurt me. But I wouldn’t mind, truly.” He drew back, turning his face down and worrying at his lower lip. Thomas put one shaking hand on Edward’s shoulder.

“It would get me used to the idea,” Edward said. “In case I ever want to go with you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Thomas said quickly. But Edward could be stubborn when he wanted to. He squared his jaw and ignored Thomas’s protests.

“I think we should try,” he explained, “to keep you out of trouble. We can always stop if it becomes too much.” Then he began undoing the collar Thomas had only just helped him put on. “You can have me right now if you want, though Mother and Jack might notice if I’m out of sorts during the day.”

Thomas kissed Edward again. He could feel sweat beading at his brow, though he had gone as cold as ever. He _wished_ Edward hadn’t offered…

“I can’t bear the thought of causing you pain,” he insisted.

Edward brushed his fingers over Thomas’s.

“Well, I can’t let you be caught and destroyed,” he said. “You must have considered the consequences. Really – I think it’ll be best if we try to keep this between ourselves.”

Thomas thought of Edward’s blood staining the floor of the hospital while he and Nurse Crawley worked to revive him, and cringed. Then he looked down. He let his hand drop from Edward’s shoulder, pulled away from the other man, and clasped his clammy hands together until his knuckles went white. Already that hunger was back, making him restless and sapping his resolve as surely as the sunlight streaming in the window sapped his physical strength. He would need to feed again that day or that night at the latest.

Thomas had been called a pervert and a fiend many times in his life, but he had never thought he deserved any of it until that moment when he caved in, shut his eyes, and whispered his answer to his first willing victim.

“All right.”

*

He waited until they were in bed together that night. There was something erotic about it anyway. Thomas didn’t like to admit it, but the bloodlust he’d lived with for the last few years wasn’t _like_ mere physical hunger. It was sort of sexual, penetrating a victim and drinking in the taste of them and the sound of their moans or gasps, the way they grew weak from loss of blood and relaxed against Thomas’s body. It was no accident that Thomas gravitated toward young men when he fed; at least he did whenever he had a choice. He’d imagined doing it with Edward, of course, and had enjoyed himself all the more when he pictured Edward’s face instead of the man he was actually with, though he’d hated himself for it after.

Thomas held Edward close, half-afraid he was dreaming and couldn’t _really_ be doing this with Edward, and half-afraid that it would end in disaster. He made sure that Edward spent himself first, and harder than he had in a long time, though Thomas was achingly hard and almost faint from hunger by the time Edward came with that sharp gasp that he loved so. Still, he kissed Edward gently and held him close.

“My God,” Edward whispered. Thomas smiled at him, as if it were any other night when they’d slept together – as if Thomas weren’t about to risk Edward’s life and his own soul, if he still had one.

Yet Edward wanted to get on with it. He took a deep breath and pulled himself up to lie across Thomas’s chest, kissing his lips before baring his neck to Thomas.

“Could you do it like this?” he asked, and tucked the curls of his hair behind his ear.

Thomas bit down on his lip. _I shouldn’t do it at all_ , he thought, but his cold heart was pounding against his ribcage and his whole body was tense in a way that only one thing could ease. He rolled over so that he was on top of Edward and began to kiss his way down his love’s arm.

“I think it’ll be easier like this,” Thomas replied. “Easier to stop the bleeding and less likely to kill you.”

A shudder ran through Edward. He tried to hide it, but couldn’t, of course, lying naked in Thomas’s arms. Thomas was sure he could feel Edward’s blood coursing through his veins. It made Thomas’s breath quicken; he couldn’t remember wanting _anything_ as much as he wanted – needed – this, but if Edward were afraid…

“I don’t have to do it,” he said. “I could go far away from here and find someone in one of the villages; I’d only make him, or her, a bit sick…”

“No,” Edward said. “This may sound strange, but I want to know and _experience_ everything about you. I don’t want you taking risks with a stranger if I can help it.”

Thomas shut his eyes. Edward’s skin was impossibly warm beneath Thomas’s hands, and smelled of clean sweat and aftershave and, beneath that, the dizzying, rather metallic scent of blood.

He opened his eyes again. “Tell me if I should stop.”

Edward smiled faintly. “Go on, then – do it.”

Thomas hesitated still, placed a half-hearted kiss on the fleshy part of Edward’s palm. Edward stiffened beneath Thomas’s touch.

“It’ll be easier if you relax,” Thomas murmured.

Edward flushed. Thomas had to stifle an ill-timed laugh. They’d exchanged similar words the first time they’d fucked, and, well, it was _bizarre_ , like a twisted parody of the love they’d shared.

“I trust you,” Edward reminded him. Thomas flinched at the words. Edward was _too_ trusting, too good to him – to let him do this without even being able to see Thomas to defend himself, if he had to. Thomas didn’t know if Edward should trust him, or if he could trust himself.

But that base desire won out in him in the end. Thomas trembled as he grazed his teeth over Edward’s poor, scarred wrist, and tried _not_ to think about that night in the hospital. Then he tore through the skin with his teeth to lap at the blood. Edward gasped. He put his hands on Thomas’s shoulder, pulling him close and wrapping his legs around Thomas’s as Thomas drank.

Every nerve in Thomas’s body was on fire. The taste of Edward’s blood warmed his throat and his insides, and Edward’s low moan filled his ears. Thomas’s prick hardened at once. He pressed Edward against the bed, pinning him down, and only dimly aware that he’d never used Edward so hard before.

Perhaps Edward read his thoughts, because he murmured, “I don’t _mind_ – the pain of it.”

His grip on Thomas’s back slackened. Thomas watched the blush drain from his face, and forced himself to let go, though the hunger still gnawed at him.

“There,” he said, licking the last drops of blood from his lips, “that’s all I need.”

It wasn’t, but Edward already looked so tired. The image of him, wrists slit and bleeding, his white face contorted with pain, came unbidden to Thomas’s mind, and Thomas shivered. He’d been so close to losing Edward, in such a similar way…

Thomas pushed away all thoughts of his own appetite. He knew that he was no longer hard – _just as well_ , he thought, his stomach turning – and rubbed Edward’s shoulder, comfortingly.

“It’s not so bad,” Edward murmured. He grinned. “I _almost_ enjoyed it, you know.”

The faintest hint of a flush spread across his face again. Thomas gave a little laugh. They’d never done anything unusual or painful in bed before, though Thomas supposed they were going to make up for that in short order.

“I’ll get you patched up,” Thomas promised, “all right?”

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas finds he can't survive only on what Edward can willingly give, and that their failing plan may arouse more suspicion, not less.

Thomas tried subsisting only on what Edward could give him. He suffered through much of the next weeks, trembling and sweating half the time, but putting on a brave face for Edward’s sake. He was only happy when they were in bed together and Thomas might – _might_ – allow himself a taste of the blood that he craved.

He told himself that he didn’t miss stalking the night like some sort of monstrous animal, and that he was protecting Edward, too, from questions and scandal. And Edward, for his part, insisted that he didn’t mind making this sacrifice for Thomas. While they didn’t speak of it aloud, he seemed to enjoy the bloodletting _almost_ as much as Thomas did. The expression of his face, scarred eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in rapture or pressed against any part of Thomas that his lips could reach – well. They told Thomas all he needed to know, and made him wonder if he could exert this power over any victim, or if it was particular to his intimacy with Edward.

Edward slept better on those nights when he was anemic from blood loss. It wasn’t healthy, but Thomas could see why Edward was so pleased with their arrangement. On one night, Edward pulled Thomas close (though his grasp was weak and his skin felt like ice), and whispered into his ear that he hadn’t given up on going _with_ Thomas, as he called it.

“I know you said my eyes might not heal, even if I did,” he murmured. “But we don’t _know_. If you’ve become some new sort of creature with no rules…” He paused, letting go of Thomas and sinking back against the pillows. Thomas smoothed his hair. He didn’t see much point in the thing he had become. He doubted it would do Edward any good, either, and bit his lip, unsure of what to say.

Edward was clever even when he was this fatigued. He cleared his throat.

“I know it’s not likely,” he said, interpreting Thomas’s silence correctly. “But it may be my last hope. We don’t _know_.”

Thomas squeezed his hand. Then he leaned in closer – licked his dry lips for any blood that he might have missed before, and ignored the aching emptiness inside him – and kissed Edward’s wrist, chaste and close-lipped.

He didn’t mean to do it. Edward stirred beneath him. The movement caused Thomas’s teeth to snag on the bandage they’d wrapped around Edward’s wrist. It came loose; Thomas licked at the small cut beneath it before he could catch himself.

Then he blinked. Was it his imagination, or was the thin scarlet wound in Edward’s skin knitting together before Thomas’s eyes in the candlelight? He reached for the lamp, puzzled.

“What is it?” Edward asked.

Thomas beamed. He’d been right: this was something _nice_ , something useful about his new condition, and he’d never even realized he could do it.

“I think I can heal, too,” he said. The wound in Edward’s wrist had closed up and scarred over, as if he’d cut himself weeks before. “I think I’ve just discovered a nice little trick.”

“What happened?”

Thomas told him. Edward smiled up at him. Then the smile faded, and Thomas knew how it must hurt him, to be told about something incredible without being able to see it. But Edward was used to putting on a brave face himself.

“Well, that will come in handy,” he said. He unwrapped the bandage and tossed it away. “I don’t suppose we’ll need that anymore.” His face relaxed; he settled himself against the pillows and felt for Thomas’s hand, smiling once more. “You see? No rules, or at least none that anyone has yet discovered.”

Perhaps there was more to Thomas’s curse than he had realized. Perhaps he _had_ given Edward hope, rightly.

*

But their plan was untenable. Thomas soon realized that he _needed_ more than Edward could safely give him. _I’ve got to tell him_ , he thought one night as he sat shaking by the window in Edward’s bedroom. His whole body felt hollow, as if he might cave in. _I’ll ask for a half day or something and go somewhere far away to do it, but I can’t survive without more_.

Edward was sleeping on the bed beside him. They were unlikely to be disturbed; Edward’s mother wouldn’t go barging into the men’s rooms at night, and Jack was in London for a few days attending an exhibition with the girl he was courting and her family. It was a rare opportunity to be together without fear – or without _much_ fear – of being remarked upon.

Thomas reached over to touch Edward’s shoulder as he slept. He thought of waking Edward to explain why this wasn’t going to work. He had to come clean sooner or later, and they’d shared such an intimate evening alone together. Then he thought how difficult it was for Edward to get to sleep, when he wasn’t tired out from blood loss, and decided against it.

Thomas looked away from Edward, down at his own hands. They were white in the darkness. He shut his eyes, exhausted, and let his head fall back. He had a sudden jolt of panic, thought he was falling for real – down a steep slope – yet _knew_ he was resting on solid ground in the armchair by Edward’s bed. He opened his eyes, dazed. A dull ache that had not been there before throbbed at his temple.

_I’m fainting_ , he thought, gripping the chair and looking over at Edward’s sleeping face. _I’m as weak as he is – worse, maybe. I_ need more _._

He would make a clean breast of everything in the morning. Now, however, he needed to feed.

He crept out of Edward’s room, up to his own attic to get his coat. The stairs were a struggle for him. He had to stop several times to rest, with his head tucked down and his hands pressed against the whitewashed wall so he wouldn’t stumble. But he made it up at last, rested on his cot for a few minutes with his overcoat on, then descended the stairs again and left the house through the silent servants’ entrance.

*

It was pouring out. Thomas didn’t know whether to be glad of the rain, which would certainly have discouraged any lonely sleepless types from going out for a late breath of air, or to resent it, because it would make his actions seem even stranger when he got back. But like it or not, there was little he could do about the rain, and so he gritted his teeth and walked miles into the next village over. He hoped he was going far enough away that no suspicious word would reach the Courtenay family.

Thomas’s knees were buckling by the time he found a cottage with a low open window. He peered inside. A young woman was sleeping in a narrow bed. The candle on the bedside table hadn’t burnt out yet, though she looked fast asleep. Thomas supposed she’d been too tired to put it out or to shut the window. The candle shed enough light for him to see her patched dress flung over a battered chair; it looked like the sort of dress a laundress or a kitchen maid might wear to work in one or more third rate houses.

They were long days, in establishments like that. They were certainly worse than what Thomas had grown used to in the last couple years. She wouldn’t wake easily, from sheer exhaustion. That was an advantage. At least, Thomas told himself that it was. She was hardly his first choice of victim, but he was faint with hunger and thirst, and didn’t have the strength to go much further. She would have to do.

Thomas slipped in through the window to feed and hope for the best.

*

The walk back was much easier. Even the rain lightened as Thomas left his prey, though he wouldn’t have minded it now that he was sated with blood. He could feel it pulsing through his body, warming him. The brisk night air contrasted pleasantly with the hot flush that had come over his skin.

He only hoped he hadn’t hurt the girl too much. But he never took more than he needed – and he’d needed blood badly tonight. It wasn’t wrong to survive, was it? Any animal, a fox or a wild cat, for instance, would do the same, at the expense of the rats or rabbits or other prey that they hunted.

_And I do good, too_ , Thomas told himself. Edward needed him. They needed each other.

He could see the Courtenay house now, pale grey walls bright in the darkness where they weren’t covered by ivy. Thomas picked up his pace. He had a mad idea that he might go back to Edward’s room, just to see that all was well with him.

Perhaps it was an unnecessary risk. Someone might suspect that they were lovers; they were much closer than would have been normal, and if they learned of Thomas’s _other_ difference – well, that would be catastrophic. But Thomas was warm and well-fed. His step was light and he was glad to be alive and cared about in some form or other. There shouldn’t be anyone around, and he’d _missed_ Edward while he was out feeding on that girl. He would risk it.

Thomas crossed the empty park and let himself in by the servants’ door. At the first floor he turned down a corridor toward the front staircase. There was no need to waste time looking for a candle or a torch; he could find his way to and from Edward’s room in the dark, and crept as quietly as he could up the stairs to see Edward one last time before retiring to his own room. A smile pulled at his mouth. Human or not, he was a hugesop, to grin like that at the mere thought of seeing Edward for a moment more.

To Thomas’s surprise, Edward was standing in the dimly lit corridor with his back to Thomas, wearing his overcoat. Thomas could make out his shape against the wallpaper and thought, _I reckon I woke him when I left. No matter; I’ll tell him now and we’ll find a new plan together._

“Edward?” he asked.

Jack Courtenay turned to face him.

Now that it was too late, Thomas saw Jack’s darker hair, more rugged features, and the small bag he’d been holding out in front of him. Jack scowled more readily than Edward did – even in the dark Thomas could see his scowl – but he was so like his brother in height and build, and the coat he had on was so like Edward’s, that it was a natural mistake to have made. _Damn it._

“ _Barrow?_ ”

Thomas stiffened. _Fuck_ , he thought. _Damn_. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes, natural or not, but Jack wasn’t supposed to return until Saturday. _Irritating bastard had_ _to turn up like a bad penny…_

“I’m very sorry, sir,” Thomas said. “I – We didn’t expect you until the weekend.”

“Well, I left early,” Jack snapped. “Or tried to; the trains were absurdly late. I only got in ten minutes ago. Anyway, _I_ don’t have to justify myself to _you_. May I ask why you’re coming in and to our rooms at this hour?”

The blood Thomas had consumed churned in his stomach, threatening to get up into his throat like bile. He wondered if he could vomit – vomit blood, perhaps, disgusting as it was to contemplate – and tried to smile, though he doubted he succeeded.

“I was just coming in from a walk.”

Jack looked around, spotted the light switch, and turned it on. Light from the electric lamp flooded the narrow corridor. Thomas looked down.

“On a night like this?” Jack said. “It’s hardly stopped raining.”

Thomas could see that Jack’s new coat (it was definitely new, not the one he had worn when he left; he must have bought the stupid thing in London) was damp from the rain.

“And what were you doing here rather than going up to the servants’ quarters?”

At least Thomas had a few lies prepared. This wasn’t the first close call he and Edward had had.

“Your brother had a nightmare about the war,” he said. “You know how it is; we’ve all had some, and he called for me. Then, since I was awake I thought I’d get some air and just check on Mr. Courtenay before I went back to bed.”

Jack rolled his eyes as he unwrapped his scarf. “Well, it sounds like you’ve been awfully familiar, as usual – and I wish you wouldn’t call my brother by his Christian name. He might accept that sort of thing for some reason, but most people wouldn’t.” He thrust the scarf into his pocket with his free hand, found it wouldn’t fit, and let his hand drop to his side, still holding the wet scarf and hissing in annoyance. “That said, since you’re standing there, will you help me for a minute? I’ve had a long night.”

“Of course, sir,” Thomas said, and suppressed a sigh. It galled Jack, seeing Edward manage the estate with Thomas – a mere valet – instead of him, but Thomas was not in a strong position to anger Jack right now. _I’ll tell Edward the story so he can back me up._

Jack handed him his bag. Thomas took it, keeping his head down and hoping to attract as little attention as possible.

Naturally, his luck went against him in every way. Thomas had to pass under the light as he followed Jack toward his room two doors down from Edward’s. Jack turned around again right at that moment and frowned at Thomas. Thomas froze, sure something must be wrong as Jack furrowed his brow, deeply, much as Edward did himself.

“You have blood on your shirt front,” he said. There was a slight waver in his voice – hesitation, or perhaps fear. _Fuck_ , Thomas thought again.

“I didn’t realize,” Thomas said, looking for the stain. Jack was right. There was a trail of blood drying on the white collar of his shirt. He bit his lip. Was he so out of practice already? “I must have cut myself shaving.”

Jack stared at him hard before nodding. “Well, make sure you look presentable next time. My poor brother might not be able to see, but that’s no excuse.”

God, he was worse than Mrs. Courtenay ever was, with his priggish little lectures – worse than Mr. Carson had been when Thomas was still human and worked at Downton Abbey. _Why are you here?_ Thomas thought at the other man. _Why couldn’t you have stayed in London like you said you would?_ He’d probably annoyed the girl’s family and left early, Thomas assumed, wishing his predicament were as humorous as it sounded, and thrusting his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking.

“Anyway,” Jack went on, “you’ve been acting so strange tonight, sneaking around and – and looking like you’ve been up to something, with blood on your shirt. I’ll accept your explanation for now, but I feel I _should_ say something to my brother.”

“I swear I’ve told the truth,” Thomas said.

Jack looked at him again. He was pale himself. Thomas could see the muscle in his jaw twitch. _He’s scared, too, for all his trying to hide it._ It was laughable, the human and the monster staring at each other trying not to quake.

“I said I’d take your word for it,” Jack said as they reached his room. He tossed his scarf and coat onto the dresser. The coat started sliding away. Jack let it fall to the floor, shook his head when Thomas gestured that he could fetch it for him, and took his bag back from Thomas.

“That’ll do, Barrow,” he said. “I know you’re Edward’s man, not mine, so I won’t trouble you anymore.” He glanced over at Thomas with narrowed eyes. Thomas could just about smell his unease, though Jack swallowed and tossed his head carelessly. “You should go up to bed.”

“I will, sir,” Thomas replied.

Jack gave him a curt nod before shutting the door.

Thomas sighed. So now Jack would suspect something – had, indeed, seen the blood on Thomas’s shirt, when Thomas was normally so tidy in every way. Edward had been right to worry. Perhaps Thomas had grown careless over a couple weeks, but then, this wasn’t the first time someone had spotted him, either. They wouldn’t be able to keep this secret to themselves. Thomas didn’t even know if he could survive undetected in a small place like this. He remembered the girl he’d fed on before. She might not be able to work these next few days, from the loss of blood. Sooner or later people would notice a pattern of symptoms, of unexplained wounds and illnesses that started in the night – wouldn’t they?

Thomas stood in the corridor, frozen, with sweat beading at his brow. _You’ll be caught and destroyed – dissected, perhaps, in some laboratory_ … Edward’s words rang in his ears. Thomas clasped his hands together until his knuckles were white and blood oozed from his wound beneath the glove. _I overdid it_ , he thought. He rarely gorged himself, and shivered as he thought of the girl and hoped that she would be all right.

_Come on_ , he told himself after a moment. _We’ll think of a new plan._ Then he snapped off the light, lest anyone else should pass by and see him, and headed up the stairs to the servants’ bathroom to clean himself up. When he had finished, he descended the stairs again, looked around, and let himself into Edward’s room.

He heard Edward’s soft, slow breathing as he approached the bed. Again he hesitated. His old instinct, to do what was best for Edward in every respect, was strong. But then, it would be terrible for both of them if Jack or anyone else were to glean what Thomas was and how – and _why_ – Edward protected him. So he dropped down into the armchair beside Edward’s bed and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Edward,” he whispered, “I’m sorry, but I need to talk to you.”

Edward stirred. He made a noise that was a little like a sigh, put his hand to his face, and murmured, “I… _what_?”

Thomas ruffled his hair.

“It’s me, Thomas,” he said, though Edward probably knew that, even half-asleep.

Edward stifled a yawn. He felt the bed and bedclothes under him, before pulling himself up into a sitting position.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching for Thomas’s hand.

“There’s – I’ve had a bit of a problem,” Thomas said. “I had to go out, and I’m afraid Jack saw me coming back here. He seemed suspicious.”

“Well, why did you leave my room in the first place?” Edward asked. “I wouldn’t have minded you spending the night.” Then he went pale; his voice rose. “And what – what did he say? Does he know about us?”

Oh, God – Edward thought Jack was suspicious of their relationship, not Thomas’s _problem_. Thomas supposed he’d led Edward on, led him to think that the blood he could safely give Thomas was enough, and that Thomas’s days of stalking the night for victims and risking stirring up suspicion were over.

“I don’t know what he suspects, but he saw a blood stain on my shirt,” Thomas began.

Edward’s frown deepened. “From me – or from someone else? You’d better start at the beginning.”

Thomas did. He kept his eyes fixed on Edward’s hand which he continued to grip in his own. Edward’s skin was white. Thomas’s flesh looked pinker and healthier for a change, though his stomach churned with guilt. Really, he shouldn’t have gone on with their arrangement as long as he had. It was making Edward ill – making both of them ill, in fact.

So Thomas confessed everything at last, about the hunger that Edward alone could not satisfy, the girl in the neighbouring village, and the walk home that had ended with Thomas making such a damning spectacle of himself. Edward sighed when he finished.

“Trust Jack to blunder in and ruin things,” he muttered. “But I wish you’d told me before going out.”

“Well, I didn’t want to wake you – and I didn’t realize Jack would come in the same time I did.”

Edward shook his head. “You _should_ have woken me, but, yes, neither of us knew Jack’s damn plans had changed.”  He lay back against the pillows, still holding Thomas’s hand. “So what did you tell him? I know you’re quick-thinking enough to come up with something decent.”

Thomas kept his voice very low. “I said you had a nightmare about the war, called me down, and we talked for a bit. Then I went out for some air but wanted to check in on you again. I hope you don’t mind.”

Edward hesitated before replying.

“No – I don’t mind.”

The story was likely enough. Edward did have nightmares, sometimes, as Thomas did. Even Jack had had a few when he first got home after the Armistice, and Jack had been younger and spent less time in France than either of them had.

“At least Jack doesn’t know when you left,” Edward added. “So there’s that. Although I can’t believe you walked all the way to Newton and back in such a short time.”

Thomas would not have believed it before, either. He supposed his curse gave him some new stamina, or at least new desperation of a kind he had never known when he was human.

“I didn’t want anyone connecting it with you and asking inconvenient questions,” Thomas explained.

“No – neither do I,” Edward said. “I don’t want you to be caught, and I don’t want any of this leading back here to me or my family.”

“What should we do?” Thomas asked. It flattered him that Edward wanted to protect him, yet it may have made things worse, in some ways. “I survived all right before without being caught.”

“But it’s such a small place here,” Edward countered. Thomas could see him worrying at his lip. “Just give me a minute to think. Is there anything else I should know in case Jack wants to lecture me tomorrow?”

“No,” Thomas replied.

Thunder cracked in the distance beyond Edward’s window. Edward tensed and turned his face toward the sound. Thomas was glad he’d gotten in when he did.

“You couldn’t have picked a worse night to go traipsing over the moors – like a Gothic novel,” Edward said wryly.

Thomas flushed. “I didn’t have much of a choice, and I didn’t think your brother would come back.” Then he paused, remembering the idea he had half-formed earlier that night. “If you want I can try to go up to London or some place on half days to do it, but you’d have to let me go more often.”

That was a thought. It just might work. And perhaps Edward could come too, sometimes, when he had or invented business in town; that way, he would not have to give Thomas so much time off that it would look strange.

“Would that be enough for you?” Edward asked.

“Well – I’d have to go fairly often, if you could spare me.”

“I’d let you – _use_ me some of the time,” Edward said. “I really don’t mind; I get something out of it, as it were. But I suppose you could invent a poor old aunt who’s dying and wants to reconnect, or something like that.”

Thomas doubted his relations would ever _want_ to reconnect, as Edward put it. He certainly wouldn’t want to with any of them. But then, neither Jack Courtenay nor anyone else here knew that.

“I don’t know if I could run to London every few days,” Thomas said, “so I might still have to go into one of the villages _sometimes_ , but yeah, that could work.”

Edward patted his hand.

“You’d still have me, and the occasional trek to Newton or wherever. I just don’t want any of my tenants or the villagers _here_ affected; that’s too close to home.”

It was, literally. Thomas didn’t need to be told that.

“You could come with sometimes and we’d say we were traveling on your business,” he suggested.

He remembered too late just how difficult a thing that was for Edward.

“You know I can’t travel,” Edward snapped. He jerked his hand back and shrunk into himself, away from Thomas. “I’ve done a lot for you,” he added, controlling himself, “and I don’t mind, but that’s too much to ask.”

It wasn’t _impossible_. They’d gone up to London for a week months before, to deal with some investments of the late Mr. Courtenay’s. Edward had refused to let Jack go in his stead; they’d had quite of a row about it, but the trip was difficult, and reminded Edward of how much he had lost in losing his eyesight. He’d felt utterly dependent on Thomas. Simple things like crossing a street had scared him, because his quiet little county wasn’t nearly as busy as the City, which made his cane and all his progress seem so inadequate. He hated feeling helpless and wavered between irritation and despair all through the trip. He had almost – _almost_ – regretted not letting Jack take his place.

Thomas knew Edward would have to travel further afield sometimes, if he were to have as normal a life as possible. Other men did it, no matter what they’d lost in the war, and Thomas would be there to help him every step of the way. But this wasn’t the time to get into it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Never mind.”

“Fine,” Edward replied. He let out another yawn.

“I’ll – go up to my own room,” Thomas offered.

“Be careful,” Edward reminded him. “And thanks for telling me all this. I won’t let Jack pry.”

“And we already have a plan,” Thomas added, though he wished that part of the discussion had ended off better. “Goodnight.”


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas thought – _thought_ – they had settled things at last. He could go up to London, or at least a proper town and feed on three or four victims in relative safety, then come back sated for a while. He thought the time apart might do Edward good, too, and show him how well he could get on alone, and how independent he could be.

They made a show of it, the first morning Thomas asked for more half days. They had chosen to stage their conversation when Mrs. Courtenay was at breakfast with Edward and Jack was away visiting Miss Hartford. (He had indeed quarreled with her. Thomas had overheard Mrs. Courtenay come as close as she ever had to a row with Jack, much to Thomas’s and Edward’s amusement, and Jack had trotted off like a good boy to make amends to the girl.)

“Sir,” Thomas said to Edward, recalling the script they had prepared, “I’m afraid I’ve had a letter from my aunt. Apparently she’s taken quite sick, and she’d like to see me sometime.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Edward recited. “And I – I suppose I can spare you.”

“I’m sure we can,” Mrs. Courtenay said, putting her hand over Edward’s. She turned her thin face toward Thomas, who nodded at her. “Were you two close, Barrow?”

She could be gossipy, sometimes, though she had a kind streak in her, too, that reminded Thomas of Edward. She couldn’t resist a story like this for any number of reasons.

“She helped raise me,” Thomas replied.

“You go then,” Mrs. Courtenay said. Then she looked back at Edward. “That is – if it’s all right with you, darling.”

Edward hesitated. Thomas wondered how much of his hesitation was real, and how much was laying it on. They _had_ already agreed, for reasons no one else could ever know about.

“Of course,” Edward said.

And that was that.

The half-days helped. Thomas would find victims in some seedy street in London where no one would notice if a neighbour or a relative were ill, and would drink as much as he could. Then he would return to Edward’s estate by the early morning train. He might be tired on those days, but Edward didn’t ask much of him and Thomas could at least walk around without his legs shaking or get up from a chair without fearing that he might faint from lack of nourishment.

He still walked down to Newton on nights when he couldn’t get away, and when he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be seen. And Edward – Edward didn’t shy away from him, either. He encouraged Thomas to drink from him when they were in bed together, even insisted on it when he thought Thomas sounded tired or weak.

Thomas expected it would be easier to control himself, now that he was feeding more often. It _wasn’t_. When he had his teeth at Edward’s wrist or throat, that same ravening bloodlust would rise in him, blotting nearly every conscious thought from his mind. Nothing existed for him but the drug-like sweetness of the blood, and Edward’s cool, soft skin beneath his hands, stretched over hard muscle and bone, and Edward’s moan of pleasure in his ear.

Pleasure _and_ pain. Thomas had just enough self-control to make sure Edward still enjoyed it. He never spoke of it, and Thomas didn’t dare broach the subject in words, but every movement of Edward’s slim body beneath Thomas’s, or of his hands in Thomas’s hair pulling him closer, assured Thomas that Edward remained as enthusiastic as ever about this new direction their love had taken. It was a strange symbiosis between them, and yet Thomas thought that maybe, just maybe, they could make it work all right.

*

Thomas had only come back from his latest trip to London the week before. When he arrived, Edward shot him a sly grin and asked how Thomas’s aunt was. He’d come to enjoy putting the family on. Then Jack had slipped into the room after a walk and, overhearing, wished Thomas well before teasing Edward about how generous he was with his valet. It had _probably_ been meant as a joke. Edward, however, took it wrong and was rather sulky for the next few days, at least where Jack was concerned.

Thomas hadfound the comment funny, but not for the reasons Jack intended. His and Edward’s charade and the family’s ignorance amused him more than he could say. A week after his return and Jack’s clueless joking, Thomas was stretched out on Edward’s bed in the middle of the night kissing his way down Edward’s collar bone. They were both spent, yet wouldn’t dream of parting so early. Edward was flushed from his earlier exertions, and the feverish warmth of his body made Thomas ache, though they had both finished, sexually speaking.

Thomas took a shuddering breath. _I_ shouldn’t _need it now_ , he thought. He’d fed enough in London to last him longer than this – hadn’t he?

Perhaps it was the closeness to Edward. He swallowed and drew away from the other man, burying his head in the cool softness of a pillow.

“What is it?” Edward asked. Soon Thomas felt his searching hand on his shoulder. “Thomas, what’s wrong?”

The touch was dizzying. Thomas shut his eyes, but couldn’t stop picturing Edward’s face the last time he drank from him. _I shouldn’t need this…_

“Nothing,” Thomas said. His voice sounded thick and stupid, muffled as it was.

“No, there is something,” Edward countered. “It’s been too long since you’ve fed, hasn’t it?”

“I’m all right.”

Edward stroked Thomas’s neck and hair. “Are you sure?”

“No,” Thomas admitted. His pulse was quick and thready beneath his skin. When he opened his eyes black spots danced before his vision. _Fuck – I don’t even_ need _it just yet_.

Edward pulled him closer. Thomas surrendered to the touch.

“I don’t mind, you know,” Edward said, pressing a kiss to Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas bit his lip. He wondered how bored Edward must be of his dull, dark life, to ask to be used like this, when Thomas might hurt him.

“I know that,” Thomas replied.

He knew, in some quiet corner of his mind, that it was dangerous, that they had made so many careful arrangements to keep Thomas _from_ endangering Edward. But the blood left in his system rushed to his head, and he could not resist. He rolled over so that he was on top of Edward, who nodded at him. Then Thomas sank his teeth into Edward’s neck, as he had done only two or three times before, and drank deeply. Heat and sweetness flooded his senses.

“Ah –” Edward gasped, gripping Thomas’s shoulder.

Thomas didn’t respond, just lapped harder at the blood. Edward pressed closer to him.

Thomas told himself that he would drink only for a moment. That was all he needed. But he didn’t _know_ how much time passed, as he sucked and sucked, trying to sate that sudden and terrible thirst. His eyes fell shut once more. Edward’s skin grew cool beneath his eyelids…

He didn’t hear the pain in Edward’s next gasps, and didn’t realize until too late that Edward’s hand had long since dropped from his shoulder.

“Stop it,” he heard Edward cry, as if from a great distance away. “Stop–”

Edward was thrashing beneath him, kicking at Thomas’s leg with all the strength he could muster. Thomas jolted awake. He let go of Edward at once.

“Edward?”

Edward trembled violently. He raised one white hand to cover his neck; blood welled between his fingers. Thomas watched his jaw go slack with fear.

The horror of what he had done dawned on Thomas at last.

“I’m sorry,” he said, waking from his trance. “Let me help you–”

He grasped the top sheet, the first thing at hand, and pressed it to Edward’s neck as the blood he had consumed churned inside him.

“Damn it,” Edward groaned. His fingers covered Thomas’s; Thomas saw his brow furrow with distaste at the contact. Blood continued spurting from the vein.

“I need you to heal me,” Edward said through chattering teeth.

“All right,” Thomas said, remembering that he _should_ be able to. He moved the makeshift bandage and Edward’s hand away – touched Edward as if he were handling gold, though Edward stiffened once more at being touched like that – and leaned in closer.

“I’m trying,” Thomas explained. “Please let me help.”

His insides felt as if they had turned to ash, and he shook almost as badly as Edward, but he had to _try_ that healing trick he had learned. He had to put things _right_ somehow.

“Then do it,” Edward said. His voice rose in panic. “But don’t – don’t _touch_ me otherwise.”

For the first time since he had become the thing he was, or at least the first time since he returned from France, the smell and taste of blood sickened Thomas. He pressed his mouth to Edward’s neck, tried to run his tongue over the wound, but blood spurted from it still and refused to clot as stubbornly as the skin refused to knit together. Thomas pulled back in horror.

Edward jerked away from him, twitching.

“Can’t you do it?” he gasped.

Thomas didn’t know. He’d never learned to use his powers in any proper or systematic way, and he’d never lost control like this before. He knew Edward could bleed to death – like he almost had in the hospital, only now Thomas would be the one to kill him while he begged for help…

Thomas bit his lip until it was sore, and fought back waves of panic. _I could heal_ before _…_

“I’m trying,” he repeated, his voice cracking.

Eventually he managed to stop the bleeding, holding the bed sheet to Edward’s neck as a makeshift gauze, and using that healing trick he had half-learned as best he could. Edward’s face was creased with pain. The bedclothes were soaked with blood, too, and blood stained Thomas’s hands and mingled with the sweat on his palms.

“I’ll help change the sheets,” Thomas said as soon as he trusted his voice to work. The wound in Edward’s neck had knit together at last into a livid scar, but he would survive it, thank heavens. “I mean, I’ll do it – let me help you up–”

“I’d rather you left me alone,” Edward snapped.

Thomas swallowed hard. “Please, I’m sorry…”

He thought, _you were willing; you pushed me into it, if anything_ , but said nothing more.

Edward turned away from the sound of Thomas’s voice. A lock of his hair touched one of the fresh wet blood stains. He tried to brush his hair clear of it and sighed.

“All right – I don’t suppose I’d sleep much in this mess…”

Thomas reached for his shoulder, then stopped himself. “May I help you?”

“I suppose you have to,” Edward said weakly, and scowled at Thomas. Thomas helped him into the chair, collected the bloody bed sheets, and found a clean set in the cupboard, watching Edward all the while.

“Keep your head down, so you don’t faint,” Thomas said, recalling the suicide attempt once more. His ears rang and his face was alternatingly hot, then cold. He thought he must be moving in something of a trance, like the state he had been in before, in bed, only far less pleasant.

“Just go,” Edward murmured. “I mean, get on with your work and _go_. You’ve done enough for tonight.”

He must be thinking of Thomas as a danger and a monster for the first time. The realization made Thomas’s chest ache. He wished he had never told Edward – wished he’d never become the thing he was.

“Believe me, I’ve never wanted to hurt you,” Thomas pleaded. “I’ll never touch you again, and I’m sorry – you can’t know how sorry I am – but you did offer.”

“I didn’t know what you were capable of,” Edward countered. Weak as he was, he sounded colder, more disdainful, than Thomas had ever heard him. His words cut Thomas.

“Just let me get you back to bed,” Thomas whispered.

Edward put a hand to his forehead. Thomas wondered if he’d said the wrong thing – Edward hated being patronized – but there wasn’t a _right_ thing to say now, was there?

“I never would have thought I _couldn’t_ trust you,” Edward murmured. “Despite everything.” He gripped the armrests of the chair and tried to pull himself up, only to collapse back into it. This time, Thomas reached for him without hesitating. Edward flinched.

“I’ll just help you and go,” Thomas said.

“Well, don’t forget the bedclothes,” Edward insisted. “I can’t have the maid finding them. Take them and leave.”

Thomas obeyed. He settled Edward back into bed as best he could, despite Edward’s reluctance, and bundled up the discarded sheets. Then he trudged back to his own room with a heavy heart and a sick feeling of self-loathing tightening his throat.

*

Thomas didn’t know when or how he fell asleep, but it didn’t last long. He woke in a cold sweat with light streaming in the skylight, and bolted up, gasping.

He’d dreamed of last night’s crisis. No – it was a similar dream crisis, different in its details from last night’s events, but every bit as damning as the horrid night he and Edward had passed.

He breathed hard and fumbled for his pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. When he lit one and tried to smoke it, it tasted cold and stale to him. He didn’t find much pleasure in them anymore, though this morning of all mornings called for one.

Thomas shuddered as he poured over the memories of the nightmare that had woken him. In his dream Edward had asked Thomas to turn him into a creature like himself, and Thomas had tried to oblige him, draining him to the point of death. He remembered slitting his own wrist to let Edward drink, but Edward’s lips had barely touched his skin when Jack Courtenay appeared, and stood in the doorway watching as Edward’s dying form sagged against Thomas’s body.

It was a little too close to home, Thomas thought, recalling Edward’s white face and panicked tone last night, and the blood that had gushed from his neck.

_I’ve got to apologize_ , he told himself. _Apologize and see if he’s all right – and_ put _things right somehow._

He dressed in a hurry. The bloodied sheets were still folded and hidden beneath his bed. The sight of them as he bent to put on his shoes made Thomas’s stomach ache; he wondered where he might burn them without anyone seeing him. But he had to look to Edward first.

He ran down the stairs to Edward’s room and shut the door behind him, but hesitated before approaching Edward’s bed.

“Edward?” he whispered.

Edward stirred. Thomas took a step toward him, then stopped again. Edward’s brow was white and deeply lined with worry.

“Thomas?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Thomas drew closer to him, his mouth dry.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, as if he hadn’t already apologized three or four times last night. “Can I – may I help you up? For breakfast?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Edward snapped. He was wide awake now. Thomas fidgeted.

“Well, I can call the doctor,” Thomas said. “I won’t care if they ask questions, I’ll – I’ll try to get away or something, once I know you’re all right.”

The suggestion pained him, but he meant it. He would rather try his luck alone than cause Edward fear or suffering.

Edward sighed. “I don’t need a doctor, and I don’t want you to go, not even now. I’ll forgive you, but I can’t help being wary for a bit.”

“All right,” Thomas murmured, clasping his hands together. “I’m sorry–”

“You’ve _said_ that,” Edward cut in. “Just help me dress – and don’t touch me unless I expressly ask you to. I’m not up to anything else just yet.”

That was better than Thomas had expected. He relaxed a little bit as he helped Edward up. Edward was unsteady on his feet when he rose, which made Thomas grow cold with guilt once again, but he insisted on going down to breakfast as usual. He walked a little ahead of Thomas, clinging to his cane, even on the stairs. When they reached the breakfast room, Thomas watched Jack and Mrs. Courtenay from the corner of his eye. He wondered if either of them would notice the sudden distance between Edward and his valet and suspect that something was wrong.

“Good morning,” Mrs. Courtenay said to her son in her soft, thin voice. Jack echoed the greeting. Edward nodded, and walked toward the table, too independent to let anyone help him. Thomas looked away, as if his gaze might make Edward self-conscious. It was a stupid habit.

Then he heard Mrs. Courtenay’s voice rise as she asked, “ _Edward?_ ”

Thomas snapped his attention back to Edward. His shoulders sagged; he trembled – Mrs. Courtenay called out to him again – and Thomas reached for Edward’s arm seconds too late. Edward collapsed to the floor, dropping his cane.  Thomas winced, but rushed to his side. Jack and Mrs. Courtenay followed to stand over them moments later.

Thomas touched Edward’s hand to feel for a pulse. It was quick and uneven beneath his cold skin, but he recovered soon and stirred, trying to pull himself into a sitting position. Thomas took his arm and helped him up, ignoring his own heart’s pounding.

“Keep your head down, sir,” Thomas said. Edward stiffened.

“Jack, you should help him,” Mrs. Courtenay said somewhere above Thomas and Edward. “I would, but you know I can’t bend much with my back.”

Jack knelt beside his brother and Thomas.

“What happened?” he asked.

Thomas bit his lip as Edward reached for his hand, tentatively. He and Thomas knew exactly why he’d fainted.

“Thom – Barrow?” Edward whispered. Then – “ _Jack_?”

“It’s all right, sir,” Thomas said. Sweat beaded at his brow. He trusted Edward not to let anything slip, though he’d gotten them both into a fine mess.

“Are you ill or something?” Jack pressed. “You just fainted–”

“Yes, I _know_ that,” Edward snapped, feeling the floor around him. “I remember. And I shall need my cane.”

Thomas obliged him and helped him to his feet. Mrs. Courtenay put out a hand and touched her son’s shoulder.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

_Christ_ , Thomas thought. He wished he could smoke right here in the breakfast room, right in front of the whole family. It seemed it was going to be a long, dreadful morning.

He watched Edward take a deep breath and tensed, waiting for his reply.

“I suppose I’ve taken ill,” Edward lied. “I must have a touch of fever or something; I’m rather cold.”

“You should call Doctor Meighen,” Mrs. Courtenay said. “There might be some illness going around – I remember Mrs. Teague’s sister in Newton had a neighbour take sick with a similar fainting fever, or some such horrid thing. One or two other people in the county have as well, apparently.”

Thomas looked down. Of course people would have noticed his victims, in such a small area. Mrs. Teague must know the laundress he’d fed on that night when Jack Courtenay found him, or one of the other working village women he’d had to make do with when Edward couldn’t satisfy his hunger and when he could not travel to London in time.

He clenched his hands. He couldn’t worry about all that now.

Edward leaned against Thomas. The tightness of his muscles and the deep frown on his face broadcast his distaste, and made Thomas cringe

“I’m all right, Mother,” Edward said, “I’m sure I’ll be all right after a lie down.”

“Well, you don’t look like you can get upstairs in that shape,” Jack remarked.

Thomas kept his gaze fixed on Edward’s hand, so that he wouldn’t roll his eyes at the younger Courtenay brother. Edward scowled.

“Would you _help_ me, Jack?” he snapped. “If you and Barrow would help me up it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“You could lie down in the parlour,” Mrs. Courtenay suggested.

Edward shook his head and clutched at his cane instead of Thomas’s hand. “I’d rather go back to bed.”

Thomas and Jack helped him from the room. Thomas glanced over his shoulder and saw that Mrs. Courtenay’s face was lined with worry.

“I’ll see you when you get settled, all right?” she asked. “Unless you want me to help too.”

“No, it’s all right, Mother.”

“Well, I’ll call the doctor,” she said.

“I don’t _need_ a doctor,” Edward insisted.

“Actually, I think you do,” Jack said, in that irritating, argumentative tone he had. He was holding Edward’s left arm, touching him as little as possible, because of course he was not used to helping his brother. Edward seldom asked anything of him.

“You look pale and exhausted and – awful, really,” Jack went on. “Sorry to say.”

Thomas sighed. It wasn’t every day that he agreed with Edward’s family about anything.

“I’ll be fine,” Edward murmured.

They reached Edward’s room faster than Thomas would have expected. Perhaps he didn’t notice the time. He kept thinking of Edward’s wariness toward him – of how bad a sign it was that Edward would ask Jack for help rather than be alone with Thomas – and wondering what would become of them after last night.

“Will you take any breakfast at all?” Jack asked. “Mother will want you to.”

“You should, sir,” Thomas said. He thought back to his work in the hospital and at the front. He’d treated many men for blood loss that was even worse than what he’d done to Edward, but still not bad enough to be anywhere near fatal. Edward would be all right, but he should eat a good diet the next few days and sweet tea for the sugar, right away.

“Then have Mrs. Palk arrange whatever you think best, Barrow,” Edward commanded.

His coldness struck Thomas. Thomas frowned, but nodded his head.

“I will, sir, as soon as I see you settled.”

Jack let go of Edward once they were in his room and let Thomas help him back to bed. Thomas wanted to take him in his arms or kneel by his side and beg forgiveness, but of course he couldn’t with Jack standing in the doorway watching them. _Stupid, irritating_ …

“I don’t think you’re up to meeting with Parker today,” Jack said. Thomas turned to glare at him, before turning back to Edward. Jack _would_ choose a moment like this to annoy his brother. “I don’t mind going in your stead.”

Edward grimaced. Pale and tired as he was, his face still flushed, just a little.

“I’ll have Barrow reschedule,” he said, because he guarded his position too jealously and had struggled too much to let Jack or anyone tell him he couldn’t manage his own home. “You’ll make the arrangements, won’t you, Barrow?”

Thomas bowed his head. “Anything you say, sir.”

Jack pouted. “Well, I was only trying to help.”

“Yes,” Edward said, sounding _almost_ like his old self again, and as in control as he ever was, “but you haven’t followed the development of the north field as I have.”

Thomas grinned at Edward. He’d always told Edward to stand his ground and not to take no for an answer; it made him proud to hear Edward speak like that. Besides, Jack’s priggishness seemed to be driving Edward right back to Thomas, where he belonged.

“Tell Mother she can come up if she likes,” Edward added.

“All right,” Jack said, because at least he had the decency to know when he was beaten. Then he licked his lip, rather nervous. “I do hope you feel better, you know.”

Edward ignored him.

Jack turned and shut the door behind him as he left. Edward raised his hand to his lip, chewed at his thumbnail, then dropped his arm back to his side.

“I really don’t want a doctor,” he said. “In fact, I forbid it. I may not be the happiest I’ve ever been with you, Thomas, but I assume you can look after me.”

Thomas hesitated. “I suppose I can, but we should make sure.” He tried to joke. “I mean, for once your family and I agree.”

Edward scowled.

“Don’t you dare,” he said. “You know what happened between us, and you _should_ know why I don’t want a doctor. I’m not letting anyone drudge up the fact that I tried to kill myself so they can put me in an asylum or – or declare me unfit to have inherited or something.”

“They wouldn’t,” Thomas said reflexively. “It was so long ago–”

“He’d _see_ the scars from last night,” Edward cut him off. “And the last few weeks, every time you bled me. It won’t look like it was just once, and I’m not letting anyone send me off to Bedlam. Start thinking, Thomas.”

Thomas’s cheeks warmed. It wasn’t like Edward to snap at _him_ ; he wouldn’t have cared if he were cold toward Jack or anyone else, but this stung. Then again, Edward could have died at Thomas’s hands hours before. Thomas had been a hair’s breadth away from the disaster he’d feared ever since he confessed his secret to Edward. He knew that under the circumstances, he wasn’t in a strong position to be annoyed with Edward, and controlled himself with an effort.

“I just want to be sure you’re all right,” he countered.

A flicker of fear crossed Edward’s face. “I will – won’t I? You should know what you’re talking about, at least.” He swallowed. His voice was hoarse, but he cleared his throat and seemed so adamant about speaking his mind that Thomas didn’t dare interrupt him. “Tell me I’ll survive what you did to me.”

“You will,” Thomas promised.

“Then I won’t see a doctor,” Edward said. “Not under any circumstance.”

_Damn it_ , Thomas thought. He seemed good and trapped, however, and Edward _would_ be all right with a rest – and without losing any more blood for a long time.

“Fine,” he said at last.

Edward made no sign of answering. Thomas rubbed his neck, wishing Edward would say something, and thinking once again that he could use a cigarette right about now.

“I’ll bring you up something to eat,” he offered.

“All right,” Edward said. The chill between them lingered.

Thomas left Edward’s room and met Mrs. Courtenay in the hall. For a second he wondered if she might be successful where he had failed and persuade Edward to let the doctor come. Then he dismissed the thought. Mrs. Courtenay was fussy, but she was weak and indecisive in that way you sometimes saw in women, and that Thomas always hated. She was also so profoundly ignorant of everything that her words would matter little to Edward or to Thomas.

Still, he might try catching some of their talk, to see if Edward were as upset with anyone else as he had been with Thomas. Thomas nodded at Mrs. Courtenay as she passed him. Then he hurried down the back staircase to the kitchen, explained Edward’s mystery illness to Mrs. Palk the cook, and asked her for a tray to bring up.

“Poor Mr. Courtenay hasn’t been right since the War, has he?” she said, in her round and rather foolish voice. Thomas wished he could roll his eyes at her. _None us have_ , he thought. _Least of all me_.

“It’s not _related_ ,” he said, gritting his teeth.

Mrs. Palk shrugged. “I didn’t say that it was. I only meant it’s sad, everything that’s happened to him…”

Thomas didn’t mind defending Edward from all the unfortunate nonsense people said about him and his condition, but he didn’t have time to get into it now.

“All right,” he said, hoping to put a quick stop to his conversation with Mrs. Palk. She didn’t take the hint. Instead she asked him half a dozen more questions, about what Edward might like or feel well enough to eat. Thomas fidgeted.

“He’s been fond of those little cakes since he was a child,” Mrs. Palk mused, “and I know they’re for tea, and it’s only breakfast time, but I suppose if he’s taken ill he should have whatever he might like, don’t you think?”

_For heaven’s sake_ , Thomas thought. He counted to ten in his head, and forced himself to say, “I think so, Mrs. Palk, and you’re very kind. Now if you don’t mind, I should head up.”

“Of course, Mr. Barrow.”

He made his way back upstairs as fast as he could with the tray, which was awkward to carry. At least he caught the tail end of the row between Edward and his mother ( _so he’s sick and irritable, not_ just _angry or disgusted with me)_ and nodded once more at Mrs. Courtenay as she left Edward’s room. The woman gave a deep sigh.

“I don’t know _why_ he’s so obstinate,” she said. “I know you’re very good with him; I don’t know how we’d manage without you, Barrow, but he’s not even listening to _you_ , let alone to me – he filled me in on everything.”

_Not everything_ , Thomas thought. It wasn’t funny – not today, though it might have been under other circumstances. He kept his face solemn and agreed.

“Of course,” he said, “but he _will_ be all right. I did work in my share of hospitals, after all.”

Mrs. Courtenay’s pale face creased. “I know, but why should he take ill so suddenly? And why should he refuse to see someone?”

One bright spot in Thomas’s day: she looked to him as if he were a natural authority on Edward’s welfare, despite his being a mere valet.

“I’m no doctor, but I think it’s slight anaemia,” Thomas said. “He – might have been eating poorly the last few days, or something.”

Mrs. Courtenay looked back at the closed door of Edward’s room. “Because he’s so unhappy, or something?” Another theatrical sigh. “My poor darling – I’d fuss over him some more, but I think I’d only make things worse.”

_Damn right_ , Thomas thought. At least, she’d make things worse for _him_ by keeping him from talking to Edward in private.

“He’ll be all right,” Thomas reassured her. He could get her settled and out of his hair soon enough; he knew that. Mrs. Courtenay might be ignorant (which was, of course, for the best) and irritating, in her way, and she might be better friends with Jack, but she did love Edward and endured Thomas’s familiarity with him rather well. She could have been much worse.

“Well, I’ll let you try to get through to him. It’s good of you to bring breakfast so quickly.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Courtenay.”

She turned around. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she walked toward the main staircase. Thomas braced the tray between his shoulder and the door as he turned the handle and entered Edward’s room again.

“Thomas?” Edward called.

“Yeah,” Thomas replied. He crossed the room to Edward and set the tray down on the bedside table, then stood as still as he could. At any other time he would have drawn close to take Edward’s hand when Edward was tired or ill or unhappy.

“I brought you some things to eat and drink,” he explained.

Edward shrugged where he lay. “Yes, I figured. I’ll have you know that I feel nauseous and I don’t want anything.”

“It’ll help you feel better sooner,” Thomas said. “Mrs. Palk prepared it just for you.”

“I really don’t care – but I suppose I could do with a drink.”

“I’ve got tea and cocoa,” Thomas said immediately.

Edward made a face. “Don’t sound so eager – you know I’ll forgive you, because I’ve already said as much. You don’t have to bribe me.”

Thomas laughed a sad, nervous little laugh. “It’s not that. I’m terribly sorry about last night. I mean–” His face warmed, but he couldn’t resist probing, “I mean, you did offer, but I’ve been afraid something like that might happen and, believe me, I didn’t want to do it. I would never want to hurt you.”

Edward sighed, relenting at last. “And I was goading you – perhaps foolishly, but I suppose I was.” He reached for Thomas, then pulled back. “I don’t think it would be a danger or a problem if we were – well – the same kind, would it?”

Thomas blinked. He’d known Edward might ask him about it, point blank, someday, but not now. Not this morning, after what had happened.

“No,” he answered. “I don’t think it would, but it’s not a happy life, either. You’ve seen how I’m a sort of a – a slave to it.”

“I haven’t _seen_ it,” Edward said, coolly. “The cocoa; do you mind?”

Thomas stepped closer and handed him the cup. “Of course. And I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it like that.”

Edward sat up, took the cup from Thomas, and sipped it. “I know what you meant. And it may not be the happiest life, but we learned something last night, didn’t we?”

“What’s that?” Thomas asked.

“That it – well. It seems I want to live,” Edward replied. “Last night showed me that much.”

Thomas cringed, and put a hand on Edward’s shoulder. Edward frowned into his cup of cocoa, but didn’t pull away from Thomas.

“So you want to go through with it now?” Thomas asked. “All of a sudden?”

He couldn’t imagine Edward would _like_ the existence Thomas had been leading these last few years. Edward had seemed horrified that first night when Thomas told him – as anyone would have been – and had done so much to keep Thomas’s thirst contained, to keep him from hurting anyone else. It was an unnatural, ugly sort of life, too, living like a parasite and feeding on ordinary humans. There were a lot of people Thomas didn’t _like_ , but attacking and bleeding people in their beds was not something he’d ever wanted to have to do.

This time, Edward did pull away from him. “It’s not all of a sudden. Just because I haven’t asked you directly doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to, and wasn’t thinking about it.”

His tone was firm, despite the hoarseness of his voice. Thomas looked at Edward – white face creased, and white hands still shaking as they gripped the cup – and felt his stomach twist with guilt. He should never have involved Edward. Of course he’d have given Edward the gift of potentially endless life and healing, if it were really a gift, but Thomas didn’t know that it was. The hole in his hand wasn’t promising. If Edward went through with the change only to realize he could be blind and maimed for centuries, Thomas didn’t know how he’d react or what that might do to him.

“Why do you think I’ve let you feed on me like this?” Edward continued. “I wanted to help you, yes, but it wasn’t _all_ for your benefit.”

He finished the cocoa and made to replace the cup on the table. Thomas took it from him. Edward was pouting in that boyish way he sometimes did and that made him look rather spoiled and very like his brother. Sometimes it was endearing. Today Thomas wasn’t sure. He patted Edward’s arm, then moved his hand away, and thought, _I’m sorry for what I did, but you’re not winning that easily._

“I’m just shocked,” Thomas said. “That you should ask for it now, after what happened.”

“You don’t think I know my own mind?” Edward asked, icily.

_Damn_ , Thomas thought. “No, that’s not what I meant–”

“It better not be,” Edward snapped. “I won’t–” His voice broke. He hissed in frustration, and took several deep breaths before he could go on, scowling at his own weakness. Thomas had to look away.

“I won’t have you patronizing me,” Edward said when he could go on.

“I’m _not_ ,” Thomas replied. “Anyway, you should have something to eat. They sent up sausages–”

Edward shook his head. “I can smell them, you know, but I don’t want anything.”

“You should have something, to feel better.”

It was very fussy of Thomas to say – almost the sort of thing Mrs. Courtenay might have said, or Mrs. Palk if Edward had gone down to the kitchen. Edward relaxed. A smile tugged at his mouth. “Would it be too obvious if I said I’d eat if you changed me?”

_Definitely not winning that easily_ , Thomas thought. But he laughed, too, and drew closer to Edward, confident that he was forgiven now.

“It would be obvious,” he said. The laughter faded from his voice. “I just don’t know how you could be happy, having to harm people just to survive. You know how I hate it.”

“I’m not as good as you think I am, I don’t think,” Edward said. “I was comfortable killing Germans a few years ago – more so than I expected. And you know how I miss hunting and shooting…”

“It’s not the same thing,” Thomas said.

Edward bit his lip. “I _know_ that; I’m not stupid. Of course they’re not identical.”

“And it’s not a happy life, either.”

“And do you think I’m happy the way I am?” Edward countered. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I remember everything you said that first night, and I – I do think I may have a chance, you know. You got shot after you had – changed. It _could_ still heal someone who was injured before. We’ve no evidence that it wouldn’t work in such a case.”

Edward wasn’t one to cling to false hope. Thomas knew that, and knew Edward had a point. He couldn’t deny him – not this – but somehow he couldn’t shake his unease, either.

“Well,” he said, “I can’t do it now, not until you’re healed up. I’ve never turned anyone before and you did lose a lot of blood…”

He thought of his dream the night before, of how prophetic it had been, and shuddered. He should tell Edward about it – though perhaps not now, when Edward seemed so adamant.

“All right,” Edward agreed. “But we could travel together, you know. If I could see again I wouldn’t be – well, I wouldn’t be nervous about it. We could go to London weekly and stalk enough prey that we needn’t harm any one person much, or attract much attention.” He coughed a bit. When he spoke again his voice was weaker. “Speaking of which, did you burn the bedclothes from last night?”

“Not yet.”

Edward grinned at him. “You should – and you see, I’m already thinking of everything.”

“I will once I know you’re all right,” Thomas said.

“I suppose I could have something to eat,” Edward relented. His smile died away. “But I want you to promise you’ll do it. I want it; I won’t let you tell me that I don’t, or that I don’t know what I’m thinking. All right?”

Thomas grimaced.

“Fine,” he said, in spite of his misgivings. He really couldn’t deny Edward anything, especially today. He only hoped it would _help_ him – help them.

“Thank you,” Edward murmured. “I really mean it, you know. And of course I forgive you.” The smile pulled at his face again. “I might have some toast, if you don’t mind helping me, and I suppose I could try one of the sausages.”

_Damn it_ , Thomas thought. _You_ are _winning that easily_. But he shook his head (though the gesture was lost on Edward), and clasped the other man’s hand. Edward returned his grip before putting Thomas’s hand to his mouth and kissing it.

“I love you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to give you a hard time, only – well.” He laughed a little. “I didn’t realize how dangerous a thing it was that I was offering, but we can fix that.”

“You’re too kind,” Thomas grinned.

Edward stifled a yawn and let Thomas’s hand drop.

“Well, I think you need it,” he said. “You’ve certainly earned it, at least from me.”

Thomas bent forward to kiss Edward’s hair. “Thanks.”

And, strangely, all was well between them again. At least it seemed well. When Thomas left Edward’s room to return the tray to the kitchen, he wondered why he had had such misgivings in the first place, and why he hadn’t agreed to change Edward weeks before.


	4. Chapter 4

He wavered between optimism and anxiety all that week. At least he didn’t have his nightmare again, now that Edward had _actually_ asked him to go through with the change. Edward rested, and recovered as well as could be expected considering how often Thomas had fed from him. When Thomas mentioned the nightmare (in a low voice, because Edward’s mind was quite made up and it was stupid to speak of a dream as if it were a real problem, a real obstacle), Edward made light of it and said that Thomas shouldn’t be silly. All they need do was lock the door, and they’d be fine.

Thomas had to smile at Edward’s optimism. He fussed over him terribly, as Mrs. Courtenay did. Even Jack tried to be helpful and make friends, when he wasn’t sulking over how much attention Edward was getting from everyone in the house. It amused Thomas. Edward, however, had little time for his brother, except when Mrs. Courtenay came in to scold him for being hard on Jack, and contrived an awkward handshake between her two sons. Thomas witnessed the scene when he brought up Edward’s tea.

Of course Edward had plenty of time for Thomas. He tired easily all that week, but didn’t let it stop him meeting with Parker as soon as Thomas rescheduled their appointment, or going out walking when the weather was fine and when he declared himself up to it. (“Darling,” Mrs. Courtenay had lamented, “I wish you’d see Doctor Meighen and let _him_ say if you’re well enough; you can’t know for sure.”)

The sun was dreadfully strong for autumn, as if the weeks of rain had given way to a second summer. The heat and light drained Thomas, but he bore it for Edward’s sake. Besides, if things went according to plan, Edward might soon prefer to keep him company inside on dreaded sunny days.

Edward struggled a bit with the stairs, when he went out for their walk. Thomas helped him as he always did, but this time, the roles reversed themselves once they were outside. Dull pain exploded at Thomas’s temple as soon as he stepped into the sunlight. He grimaced, hating weather like this.

Edward didn’t notice at first. He talked about the farms in the outlying fields, the new orchard, and the cottages some of the tenants were repairing. His face was pale, but eager and bright, and his occasional winded pause for breath barely slowed his talk. He was so different from how he had been in the hospital at Downton – so _hopeful_ , Thomas thought, pleased despite the aching in his own head. And yet, Thomas wondered how Edward would keep his condition secret from his family and from the tenants who loved him so well, if they went through with it. He wondered if the gift might not jeopardize Edward’s position – his _home_ – and if Edward might come to hate it and Thomas for that reason.

Thomas’s stomach tightened with sudden nausea. _Damn_ , he thought. He looked down, took a deep breath. Edward was several paces ahead of him, still speaking.

“Do you mind if we head back to that bench?” Thomas asked.

Edward turned, supporting himself on his cane.

“What’s the matter?”

Thomas exhaled slowly. “I’m just tired. The sun drains me sometimes.”

Edward approached him and took his arm, as Thomas had so often done for him.

“You never mentioned it,” Edward said.

Thomas shrugged. “I told you my secret last month. It hasn’t been this warm or this bright since then.”

Edward caressed him through his sleeve. If they’d been alone behind a locked door they would have kissed.

“Well, come along,” Edward said. “Of course we can have a rest.” Then he chuckled. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? You with the sunlight and me with the stairs and my cane…”

They hobbled back to the small garden with its stone bench and sat down. Edward kept his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. The corners of his eyes were creased with concern, though the boyish smile never left his sun-warmed face. It was _weird_ , thinking that this might be one of the last times Thomas would see him human. Thomas wanted to shake his head at the thought, to clear it, though it seemed a bad idea what with the pounding in his skull.

“And yet I know you’ve gone out and done errands and things in the day,” Edward continued. “All the time – I hope I wasn’t asking too much of you without knowing it.”

“I manage,” Thomas replied. “I’m all right, and anyway, I hadn’t told you.”

“No, of course not.” Edward bit his lip then, his face darkening. “What was it like when that – that man changed you? You must have been shocked and frightened, I daresay…”

Thomas fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. He’d run out, apparently. _Shit_. Edward’s question was an awkward one to answer without a smoke. Thomas tried to think what Edward was getting at, if he were hesitating himself and too proud to say so, or merely curious.

“’Course I was frightened, and shocked too, I suppose,” he said. “You didn’t expect a corpse to up and grab you like that.”

Edward winced. He was more sensitive about the war than Thomas was, though neither of them liked to speak of it much.

“But it won’t be like that for you,” Thomas added, quickly.

“I know that,” Edward said.

“If you still want it–”

“I _do_.”

A magpie landed in one of the trees above them. It chattered for a moment, then hopped along its branch, looking foolish, undignified, if it were even possible for a bird to be dignified in the first place. Then a second magpie swooped down to join its friend. _Two for joy_ , Thomas thought. He grinned at the pair of them ( _rather foolish myself_ , he thought), and took Edward’s hand.

“I can go on a bit if you like,” he offered.

Edward shook his head. “I’m a little tired, too – as I say, we’re a fine pair.” He laughed, fidgeted, and pulled his sleeve up for a second before pulling it back down again. “I was thinking, you know, that if it works, we can go up to London for a bit to celebrate.”

Thomas knew he didn’t _just_ mean that the change should work. “I guess it would make sense, wouldn’t it? We’d need some sort of story.”

Edward nodded eagerly. “I know. I thought we’d spend a few days there, and when we came back I could tell Mother that I found some doctor or treatment that was able to help me, but that I didn’t want to tell anyone before in case it didn’t work.”

Thomas certainly hoped that the gift he had to offer Edward _could_ heal him. He squeezed his hand, still doubtful.

“You know I can’t – guarantee what’ll happen,” he said.

Edward nodded. “I know that. But I think your – situation is unusual enough to be worth trying. I wish we could do it tonight.”

Thomas looked him over. He didn’t know how much more blood Edward could stand to lose, but it had been a week since the incident, and Thomas thought he remembered enough of what the man in the trenches had done to him to repeat the process safely.

He hoped so, anyway.

“We’ll do it Saturday, all right?” he suggested. “It’s only three more days, and Jack will be visiting Miss Hartford then, so we’ll have more privacy.”

“If he stays put this time,” Edward teased. “You promise we’ll go ahead with it?”

“Of course,” Thomas said.

And then, because he was quite sure they were alone, he kissed Edward’s cheek before drawing a respectful distance away once again.

*

The weather cooled off on Saturday. It didn’t matter; their plan would work best inside, behind a locked door, but the gloom suited Thomas’s mood. When Saturday dawned, Thomas found he could not stop a thousand worries from churning in his mind. He hated to think how Edward would react if he went through the change only to find that it didn’t heal him, and that he might be blind for centuries. Worse – worse, because it made Thomas feel like he was a traitor to Edward even _thinking_ like this– he wondered what might happen if it _worked_ , if Edward’s eyes did heal, only for Edward to abandon him when he no longer needed Thomas.

He had to push those sorts of thoughts from his mind at least once an hour. After the household had gone to bed, Thomas sneaked up the back stairs to the attic bathroom and smoked an illicit cigarette as he rummaged in the bottom drawer of the cabinet for bandages and some extra towels. He wanted to be prepared after the incident last week. Besides, no one would miss the supplies for a day or two at least.

_We’ll be in London by then_ , he told himself. _If it goes all right_. He shut the drawer with more force than he had intended and muttered a soft curse, hoping that Patrick the hall boy wouldn’t have chosen this of all moments to get up and go to the sink for water.

The corridor was empty when he stepped into it. _Good_.

He stopped at the landing to get a spare set of sheets from the housekeeper’s cupboard. After all, he’d had a devil of a time burning Edward’s old ones without being noticed, and he had no desire for them to start their new life together by being discovered. Then, with his parcel of supplies in hand, he made his way down to Edward’s room and slipped inside without bothering to knock.

“Thomas?” Edward whispered. He was standing by the bed, pacing, with his pajama shirt unbuttoned. Thomas smiled at him, more nervous than he cared to admit.

“’Course it’s me,” he said, stepping into the room and setting sheets, towels and bandages down on the floor by the bed. Edward reached for him. He clasped Thomas’s hand.

“You seem eager,” Thomas said.

Edward flushed. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I _am_. You know that.”

Thomas leaned in to kiss him, but Edward shook his head.

“I’d rather just get on with it.”

Thomas’s stomach fluttered. He’d imagined doing this, many times now, and he would make the experience far more comfortable for Edward than it had ever been for him, yet he could hardly believe what they were about. For the umpteenth time he wondered if Edward were really sure.

“If you want–”

“For heaven’s sake, not that again,” Edward snapped. “You know I want it. It’s why I’ve let you use me for so long, to get myself used to it and – well – we’ve talked it over and I trust you.”

There was a slight waver in his voice on the latter phrase. Thomas looked at him and sighed.

“All right,” he said. Then he looked around the room. “You should lie down to do it.”

Edward nodded. Thomas could see the muscle in his jaw twitch.

“Yes, I suppose I might faint, or come close to it.”

He didn’t mention the last time Thomas had drunk from him. Thomas was grateful for that fact. He let Edward tug him into bed and reached over to light the lamp, before settling on top of Edward.

“I just – want to see what I’m doing,” he said.

Edward’s brow furrowed. “Of course. You’ll – have to drain until I’m about to die, is that it?”

It wasn’t a question you heard every day from your lover. Thomas bit his lip, thinking of the nightmare once again. _Well, I won’t let that happen…_

“It’s the only way I know how,” he replied.

The blush faded from Edward’s face as if he were already bleeding. “That’s fine – I daresay you remember.”

Thomas kissed him full on the lips. Edward returned the kiss briefly, before turning away.

“I just want to get it done,” he said. “We’ll have plenty of time after.”

“All right,” Thomas answered. He hoped Edward wouldn’t hear his uncertainty, or at least wouldn’t comment on it. He didn’t.

“The throat would be best, wouldn’t it?” Edward asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then go on.”

Thomas obliged. He sank his fangs into the vein at Edward’s neck, winced when he felt Edward shudder despite himself, but drank just the same, trying not to let the intimacy and the sweet, sweet taste distract him from his work. Soon Edward sagged backward, away from him. Thomas drank, regardless.

“Go on,” Edward murmured. Thomas thought of how determined he must have been to come as close as he had to killing himself with a flimsy razor in a hospital once. The same determination was in Edward’s voice and the rigid line of his body now. Thomas could only pray that the transformation would take away Edward’s pain.

Seconds – _minutes?_ – passed. Edward’s breath grew weaker until he could not speak at all and the only sound he made was that wheezing, rattling gasp that Thomas knew meant imminent death. He pulled away, grabbed one of the towels and pressed it against Edward’s neck before tearing into his own wrist with his fangs.

“Go on,” he said, holding his wound to Edward’s lips. “You need it; come on.”

His heart missed a beat and his whole body went cold as he wondered whether he had drawn so much blood as to be fatal. But Edward raised his head the little bit that he could and lapped at Thomas’s wrist, tentatively.

_Oh, God_ , Thomas thought. _Thank God_.

“That’s right,” he said. He wished he had a third hand to hold Edward’s head up while he staunched the bleeding. Edward, however, revived and managed quite well on his own. He licked hesitantly at first – Thomas remembered doing the same – then at a steadier rhythm.

“That’s right; it disgusts you until you realize you need it…”

Edward nodded. He took Thomas’s hand in his and sucked and sucked, until Thomas moaned from the pain of those blunt human teeth grinding into his skin, devouring the oozing blood. Edward didn’t so much as pause until he had had his fill.

“Is that enough?” he asked when he lay back down. He sounded stronger, and he knew it. His face creased into a look of wonder, as if he were a scientist conducting some clever, even incredible, experiment. “I don’t _feel_ anything different, though.”

Thomas supressed a flicker of annoyance. Blood still oozed from his wrist; he’d slit the artery, not the vein, and reached for another towel. He hadn’t realized he might need them for himself as well as Edward. Then again, he didn’t know how creatures like himself healed, or what he was supposed to do with himself. No one knew the _rules_ yet, as Edward had said.

“You will,” he muttered. Then he forced his mind back to Edward – Edward who was about to die, at least for a few seconds or minutes, if what had happened to Thomas would affect him the same way – not just himself. He folded the towel around his wrist, and patted Edward’s hand with his uninjured one.

“I’m afraid you’re going to – to feel like you’re dying,” Thomas explained. “But it won’t last long.”

Edward’s face tightened. He opened his mouth to reply, only to suck in his breath in a sharp gasp. Thomas winced in sympathy. It must be starting.

“So I see,” Edward murmured. He coughed, clapped his hand to his mouth. When his cough subsided he put his hand to his chest and rubbed it. Droplets of blood stained his skin and his white pajama shirt. Thomas touched Edward’s arm again, hoping it would comfort him – comfort both of them. It was difficult for him to see Edward’s blood, even now.

“My chest aches so,” Edward said. A spasm of coughing broke from him and forced him to sit up. Thomas fumbled for a handkerchief to give him.

“It’ll be over soon,” Thomas promised. “Try to lie down; I know I had to.”

Edward nodded and eased himself back onto the pillows. He struggled for breath, coughed again, a deep hacking one that made Thomas bite down hard on his own lip to stifle his guilt. Then Edward gasped again.

“What is it?” Thomas asked eagerly.

Edward blinked. “I could swear my heart’s stopped – yet I’m _speaking_. How’s that possible?”

It sounded familiar to Thomas, though he’d had no one to talk _to_ when he changed.

“It’ll restart,” he said. He hoped he was right; that _must_ have been what happened to him, and he tried to sound convincing when he added, “I know it did for me. I worked for you for two years and you’d never have guessed that I wasn’t alive, wasn’t – fully human, would you?”

Edward smiled, the expression opening and relaxing his white face. “No, I wouldn’t have.”

He tried to sit up again. Thomas gripped his shoulder.

“Don’t,” Thomas said. “Just relax.”

Edward furrowed his brow, but obliged.

Thomas watched the change starting. He held his breath and stared at Edward without blinking. The scars on his face grew thinner, smaller; the blisters and burn wounds flattened. They did not disappear altogether, but within seconds they had become far less noticeable than they had been. Thomas crossed his fingers. Edward would fit in with the men of his generation, if he only healed up this much. _He’ll look like he was lucky, lightly wounded_ , Thomas thought. Not enough to blind him…

He squeezed Edward’s arm. Edward’s chest heaved as he drew breath – his heart had started again, as Thomas’s had, but Edward seemed uninterested in that bit. He shrugged away Thomas’s touch and put his hand to his face, feeling where his scars had been, and hesitating before opening his eyes.

_I’m_ sure _it’s worked_ , Thomas thought. He bit the words back in case he was wrong.

Then Edward gathered up his nerve and opened his eyes at last.

“Oh my God,” he cried, and Thomas knew their plan had worked perfectly. Edward sat up laughing, then put his blood-stained hand to his mouth to stifle a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Thomas pressed close to him and wondered if he should try to kiss Edward. Tears prickled at his own eyes; he blinked them away, cheeks warming at his foolishness. He wondered again if Edward might leave him, now that he’d changed and healed, and would no longer _need_ Thomas, and looked away. _I can’t_ think _that,_ he told himself. _I can’t think that way about him, after everything he’s been through_.

Edward cleared his throat and beamed at Thomas. They stared at one another, silent, until Edward flung his arms around Thomas’s neck and captured his lips in a deep kiss. Thomas grinned before opening his mouth beneath Edward’s probing tongue.

“You’re so beautiful,” Edward said when he pulled away. Then he ruffled Thomas’s hair, and leaned in for another kiss. “I – I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” Thomas replied.

Edward chuckled, shrugged his shoulders, and slid over to the edge of the bed, tugging at Thomas’s hand.

“Let’s get up for a look around,” he said. He was almost bursting with joy.

Thomas followed him He felt rather useless – he _was_ a bit useless now, though he was less inclined to think that Edward would be unkind or ungrateful enough to break with him – but held Edward’s hand as Edward explored his old room, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at his surroundings.

He stopped in front of the mirror and stood still. Thomas wondered what it must be like to see himself for the first time in years, and to see Thomas for the first time in his life. Then Edward put his free hand to the side of his face, examining the faint scars that were all that was left of his life-long wound.

“Almost all gone,” he murmured. “It – it must have been awful before.”

“You were still incredibly handsome,” Thomas pointed out. “And I think it’ll look more believable this way, with just enough of the scars left.”

Edward actually giggled. “Yes, well, I suppose we can’t advertise our secret to the whole world, can we?” Then he cleared his throat, tried to look serious, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. “I suppose literature’s got it wrong, too. We _do_ still cast a reflection.”

Thomas laughed, too. Somehow his condition seemed less like a burden and more like a gift now that he had someone to share it with.

“It’s convenient, isn’t it?” Thomas asked. “Would have been hard for people _not_ to notice, otherwise.”

“Well, not _me_.” Edward said. “Not until now, at any rate.” He looked down, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his expression. Thomas pretended not to see the gesture and Edward soon gave another laugh. “I don’t know how to thank you for giving me my life back.”

“You don’t _need_ to,” Thomas repeated. “But we’ll have plenty of time to figure something out, if you like.”

Edward took Thomas in his arms and pulled him up into another, tender, sensual kiss that made the base of Thomas’s spine tingle.

“We could stay up and celebrate,” Edward whispered into his ear. “And then rest on the early train tomorrow.”

Thomas kissed Edward’s cheek, his worries forgotten for the first time in days.

“A busy night, and then we hide from the daylight together?”

Edward nodded. His mouth curved back into that broad, boyish, and very human smile, and his human teeth glinted white in the lamplight. The fangs would grow in soon, but Thomas was sure they’d manage all right until then and afterwards, too. Then he stopped thinking rationally and let Edward lead him back to bed for the first time as companions and as the same sort of creature.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in honour of the Halloween season; I hope to have completed this piece by then. Many thanks to ALittleWhos-This for giving me the prompt and nurturing my little vampire! Thomward idea (although I am insistently NOT using the v word, so technically Thomas could just be a vampire-like creature, and not an actual vampire).


End file.
